Assassin's Luck
by Vincentfreak Davofreak
Summary: Things are not as they seem, and looking at them twice only makes things harder. Second chapter is finally up after a exceedingly long wait!
1. Rufus

ASSASSIN'S LUCK  
She walked a few feet behind him, trying not to make a sound. She reached for her gun and slowed her pace. Silently she loaded it, placing the shiny silver bullet in carefully. One bullet would be all that it took, with no sense of guilt. Her pace picked up now, nearing her target, she would strike now.  
  
She tripped, landing on her face. She didn't expect herself to slip up on this mission. Nevertheless, she had.  
  
He turned around, his white coat toying with his heels, like a cat toying with its lunch. Alert, he reached out for his shotgun, aiming it at the shadow in front of him. She, the dark shadow, got to her feet quickly, too fast for her pray who stood further down the corridor. She aimed at him.  
  
A single bullet shot out from the gun, whizzing through the air, ripping clothes and tearing through the flesh of a shoulder. A hand reached up clutched onto the wound, the wounded fell backwards, hitting the wall smearing it with a thick line of crimson red blood. The pain increased upon impact with the cold metal wall causing the wounded to yelp in pain.  
  
Silence... Nothing moved. A thin stream of grey smoke calmly spewed from the muzzle of the gun. Walking towards the wounded one, the owner of the gun loomed down over the body, their hand still clutching the wound, blood spilling from between the fingers.  
  
His pure white coat lapped at his heels as he stopped beside the girl. His shotgun was still smoking, held tightly by a gloved hand, the gun stayed unmoving at his side.  
  
Her vision was blurred and unbelievable pain rocketed through her wounded shoulder. Her pray stood over her, his sea-blue eyes narrow, they held no visible emotion, and neither did his face.  
  
"Shin-Ra bastard..." She hissed at her pray. However, she couldn't finish, the pain was getting to her now.  
  
"Inexperienced assassin..." His voice was steady and drained of emotion, save the sarcasm. He flicked a few stray strands of blond hair away from his eyes. The girl in front of him narrowed her eyes, he assumed her wound was hurting more than she had expected it to.  
  
Silence, neither of them spoke.  
  
The wounded assassin smiled her deep green eyes glowing with some form of emotion, although he couldn't determine what. What did it matter now? He wasn't going to let this... girl live after that little escapade.   
  
Cold, silvery blade of a dagger, tinted red with the security guard's blood. The assassin hadn't been alone on this mission; she had an advantage over him now.   
  
Raising the gun that he held so tightly in his hand, he pressed it against the side of her head. The cold muzzle of the weapon was touching her right temple lightly; ready to fire and spill the contents of her skull on the cold grey floor.  
  
The bloody dagger glinted in the dim light of the metallic corridor, getting ever closer to the throat of its next victim.  
  
His finger tightening on the trigger, not long now. Don't have very long to live eh, assassin...  
  
"Any last words?"  
  
Silence once again. The same cold silence as before. That dreaded silence before the end.  
  
The sharp cold blade of the blood stained dagger, suddenly against his neck. How had he let that happen? He could take care of himself...  
  
He felt the cold steel start to drag across this throat... searing pain overpowering every one of his senses.  
  
***  
  
Gasping he shot up from the pillow. He was shaking; the sweat on his forehead forced his sandy blonde hair to cling to his face. Looking around the room, his vision fell upon the window opposite his bed. Sunlight bloomed behind the soft voile curtains. Beyond the thin glass of the window, the sun had made its appearance over the snow-covered countryside.  
  
It was always the same assassin, always the same man, that man who looked like him; and he would always die an a different and more excruciating way.  
  
Silently he slipped out of bed and wondered into the corridor. The uneven wooden floor was cold under his bare feet; he ran his hand along the faded red floral wallpaper on his way to the bathroom at the end of the corridor.  
  
His hand settled tightly on the smooth silver surface of the tap, he looked up and stared at his refection as the cold water gushed into the sink. Why did that man resemble him? That's why the dream was disturbing, if that man had looked like anyone else he wouldn't be so wrecked every time he woke up.  
  
"Rufus? Are you okay, dear?" An old lady stood in the doorway, her kindly disposition hiding the pain she felt with every simple movement. Her pale blue hair was pinned back in a tight bun, with only a few strands of hair falling over her face.  
  
Rufus saw her in the mirror's refection; he had only lived here for a week. He had been ill when they found him in the Old City ruins. And they had sent him here.  
  
"I'm fine..." the lack of feeling in his voice frightened him, so much like the man in his dreams. His hands pierced through the surface of the icy water.  
  
"When you're done I need you to run a few errands for me, ok?" Rufus nodded as his reply. The old lady smiled and continued, "I'll leave the money on the side for you." With that she disappeared from view.  
  
The cold water came as quite a refreshing shock as he splashed it over his wan face. The little droplets of water absorbing the light effortlessly just before smashing back into the pool of water and coming back up for air. Water trickled down his forehead and his nose, to fall off his chin and back into the sink.  
  
Brushing the few stray strands of wet hair out of his way, Rufus reluctantly went back to his room to change.  
  
After collecting the money and a rather lengthy list from the counter, Rufus headed down the dirt track and into town. Wrapping the blue scarf around his neck, he defended himself against the harsh winter winds. Already he could hear the hustle and bustle of the market place, although it was some distance away. A brisk walk should get his mind off that dreadful nightmare. But it did not. All he could think about on his way to the market was that assassin and her accomplice, and the way that they murdered him. These thoughts had plagued him since he left the house, and it did not look like they were going to release his mind from their cold icy grasp.  
  
Not wanting to dwell on these thoughts for much longer, he walked into town, looking for something to clear his troubled head. Fishing around in his coat pocket he found the list he had been given. He stared down at the neat handwriting of the old lady as he walked towards the market place.  
  
"HEY WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOIN'!" Rufus looked up. He had bumped into a tall girl  
while he was reading the list; she had fallen to the ground. He started to apologize to her, and extended his hand to help her up. There was something familiar about this stranger. She had green eyes, just like the girl in his dreams... Suddenly he reached inside his coat for his shotgun; however, he did not own a gun. The girl stood up giving Rufus a strange look as she dashed past him. He followed her.  
  
She stopped out side an old derelict building, it's many windows sealed with planks of rotting wood and rusty nails. Rapidly she banged on the large metal door in front of her, it rattled in distaste every time her fist made contact with it. With a rusty creak, the heavy door slid open and the girl rushed in, not bothering to shut the door behind her.  
  
Rufus clutched his sides; he was out of breath and suffering the penalty of running for so long. He watched as the metal door opened, watching the girl go inside. He sighed as he started the short trek down to the abandoned building.  
  
The whole building gave him a sense of foreboding as he stepped through the doorway and into the large almost empty building. The young man scanned his new surroundings, searching for the girl. He heard a soft rustling sound from somewhere behind a large pile of boxes. Walking over to them he picked up a metal bar, just incase she tried to attack him. Slowly he peered over the top of  
a wooden crate, Rufus came face to face with the girl, she leaped towards him hands stretched out searching for his throat. The metal bar fell from his hands; it hit the grey metallic floor and rolled some distance away, too far away for him to reach it. Rufus clawed at the cold hands around his neck, trying in vain to free himself.  
  
Her eyes were filled with hate as she stared down on him, her hands firmly wrapped around the stranger under her. With all the strength he could muster he raised a leg underneath his attacker, and kicked her off. She was thrown across the room like a doll colliding with a wall of boxes. Something scattered across the floor as the young girl smashed into the heavy looking boxes, Rufus ran over to it, it was a gun probably the girl's weapon. Rufus picked up the firearm and  
opened his coat to put it in. The girl behind tried to get up, but failed. She attempted to stand again, this time with better luck. Rufus decided that he had better take a look around this strange building, although it looked run down from the outside the interior was another story.  
  
Rufus wondered along the dimly lit corridors, all too often being startled by his own reflection in the shiny metal walls. He had been exploring the many corridors and hallways for at least an hour now, and he was almost certain that he was lost. Rufus spun round suddenly upon hearing something hit the ground behind him, just like in his dream. The assassin had fallen over. As he turned around he knew what he would see. He would see the girl from the market aiming a  
gun at him, and he did, he saw it just as he had in the dream. A single gunshot rang through the silence that seemed to cling lovingly to the old building was shattered brutally. The girl slumped against the opposite wall leaving a thick trail of blood as she slowly slid into a sitting position. She clutched her wound grinding her teeth trying to ignore the agonizing pain that resided in her  
shoulder.  
  
The victor walked over to the girl, holding the gun against her head. His finger tightened its grip on the trigger, slowly pulling it backwards ready to send the silver bullet into her scull. The bullet exploded from the muzzle of the weapon, imbedding itself in the poor girl's head. She fell over, lifeless. Rufus had won! He had changed the ending of that horrible, bloody dream... But he had  
forgotten about the other one, the young girl's accomplice on her mission, he was standing behind the relieved boy. The knife glinting in the insufficient light of the emergency lights. Rufus felt the cold, sharp blade against his throat; slowly being dragged from left to right.  
  
He fell to the ground, looking at things in slow motion as the teenager hit the cold ground. He coughed, blood gargling from inside his neck and foaming at the corner of his mouth. Rufus watched in horror as the assassin knelt over him and dealt the final blow, raising the bloodied dagger above his head and stabbing the wounded boy repetitively in the chest. The pain rapidly took over his every sense; he couldn't hear the sound of his flesh tearing anymore. Eventually Rufus could no longer keep his eyes open. The world around him faded into nothingness. 


	2. Reno

He ran his bloodstained hands under the tap. He watched the water trickle down into the basin, watched it become impure, stained like his hands from the blood. His shirt was beyond repair, torn and muddy, tinted red in places; he threw it on the floor. He shouldn't be alive, he shouldn't have been able to escape, like Rude; he shouldn't have been able to...  
  
Reno sighed, leaning on the sink for support. He stared at the mirror before him. He cringed at the scars and burns that covered his bare chest and arms. Turning off the taps, he glared at the rope burns on his wrists.  
  
In the back of his mind he could see his friend tied up next to him. The angry citizens of Midgar were executing their hatred for the ShinRa upon them. The two Turks awaited their punishment; too weary to resist. And for once in their lives, they found themselves unable to fight back.  
  
Reno could still smell the rotten stench of scorched flesh in the air, still remember the silent facade Rude maintained as they prodded him with the stolen night-staff.  
  
The flame haired man walked away from the mirror, pushing open the door that led into the cluttered kitchen down the hall. He rummaged in the cupboards, dragging out the crunchy nut cereal; he poured some into a bowl.  
  
The phone rang whilst Reno had his head in the fridge, retrieving the milk. With his free hand he reached out blindly towards the noisy machine and placed it to his ear.  
  
"Hello?" Reno croaked, finding it near impossible to speak. He placed the milk on the side, letting the fridge close on its own.  
  
"Work? No." The red head shoved the phone back down and poured the cold, crisp milk over his breakfast. He wasn't going to work today, they could give him the sack for all he cared; he wasn't going to work.  
  
Chewing on a mouth full of cereal, Reno switched on the radio. Wearily he let the spoon fall back into the bowl, ignoring the fact that he spilt half its contents on the table. The x-Turk looked up at the small black appliance; every movement he made summoned pain in his limbs.  
  
Deep voiced reporter trapped inside the radio spoke, but Reno couldn't hear the words, he didn't try. All the young man could hear was enraged screams chasing after him. As the reporter spoke, no words came from him, only screams.  
  
Reno shut it out, locked out the horrifying screams. Tried desperately to forget Rude being dragged down beneath the sea of people. All Reno could get hold on at that moment was the necklace that hung around Rude's neck; it broke. Rude was lost in the sea of hands, all because Reno was unable hold on.  
  
Time to go out, Reno thought, as he staggered into the bedroom. Clumsily he pulled on the first clean clothes he saw, not bothered what he looked like. Beer would calm his mind.  
  
Hurridly he went to the front door and found his way out into the crisp evening air. He stared out over the balcony; half wishing that it wasn't so cold. It must have been too cold to snow, he thought idly. He trudged along the reeking corridors of the apartment building, ignoring those few whom he passed on his way into the street.  
  
Car's bleared past, shooing pedestrians out the way with their loud horns. Reno shoved his hands in his pockets, hoping to find some money, but found none. Without even a Gil to his name he crossed the street in amongst a gaggle of shoppers. Must have been stolen, he thought, as he wondered aimlessly around town, hoping that he'd meet someone.  
  
The ex-Turk walked with his head down, the bruises around his eyes would invite stares and he didn't feel like meeting them. Shuffling past eager pedestrians, Reno made his way towards a street he recognised. Unconsciously he pushed open a dark door and stepped inside, letting the door close slowly behind him.  
  
When he looked up, he found himself sitting at a bar, with a familiar face staring at him from behind it. Granted he couldn't remember exactly who it was, but she was looking at him exceedingly strangely. It freaked him out a bit, well quite a lot actually; she had the most disturbed look on her face... like he should have been dead. She shook her head.  
  
"Can I get you anything?" She asked rather nervously for a bar maid, reaching for a glass as if she knew what he was going to say.  
  
"Two-" Reno paused. Two pints, that's what he would have ordered, but now there was nobody to drink with. Besides, the bar maid was starting to look at him funny again. "...I'll have a Jack Daniels....." he trailed off, watching the people behind him shuffle uncomfortably out the corner of his eye. The maid nodded and turned to deal with his request, searching the shelves for the whiskey, and getting a different glass.  
  
The bar maid handed the x-Turk a square glass filled half way with an orangey brown liquid. Reno nodded and took the glass in a hand, leaning his head in the other, trying not to aggravate the bruise. Slowly he took a sip of the drink, letting it slide down his throat at its own pace. Absentmindedly, he swirled the remaining whiskey around the peculiar cup, watching it slosh up at the corners threatening to spill onto the smooth surface below.  
  
Rude was sat beside him, thanking the bar tender for the drink and money exchanged hands. Reno swirled his finger in his drink. He glanced at his friend from the side, polishing off the whiskey that remained at the bottom of his fifth glass. Now he had turned fully to face his old comrade in arms. He sighed as the dim realisation struck; that wasn't Rude. Rude was dead. Dead in a gutter in the ruins of the once glorious Midgar. 


End file.
